Who Wants to Live Forever?
by darkmousey
Summary: It was instinctual, carnal, real. A peek into Scaramouche's mind during the van-lemon scene.


Disclaimer: We Will Rock You is property of Queen and Ben Elton.

Warning: It's a lemon, folks.

**Who Wants to Live Forever?**

It was instinctual, carnal—words that had always been cast in a negative light and therefore cherished by Scaramouche, yet never experienced. The closest she ever got were her outbursts of rage against the GaGa Girls, but even those releases were nothing like what she felt here, in the back of this relic, with this boy she barely knew.

But he wasn't a boy—he wasn't one of the BoyZone Boys, a puppet in the hands of the Global Soft Coroporation, no more than she was a GaGa Girl. He was…a man, an individual, different…like her. She'd never noticed how much a difference in semantics could mean.

And here they were, a man and a woman, alone together for what could possibly be the last night of their lives—as man and woman, if not forever—and when she looked at him, whether out of danger, or desire, or desperation, she felt an alien desire throbbing throughout her body and pooling in her core. When she leaned forward, she could feel the wetness.

She knew what this feeling was, in a biological sense. They were all educated about it in school, but it was something that only animals—instinctual, carnal, base animals—would do. Humans were above that. Humans made logical decisions, and, logically, used science to procreate. The decision was made, the appropriate cells extracted, and when the time was right, the finished product was handed off to his or her new family. Desire had nothing to do with it. Instinct had nothing to do with it. Humans had evolved beyond the need for that messiness, for that disgrace.

Yet here she was, wet and throbbing—_please, please, don't ever stop!_—in the grip of carnal desire, and, if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by, so was he, this man who she had met only a short while ago, and who had so quickly become the most important person in her life. She was his chick, and he was her…Well, she would think of something later. Now, she knew what she wanted: she wanted him, and this, and _them_, and to just stop thinking, to just stop listening to the part of her brain that was thinking of the semantics and just _act_ and _react_.

And so, she let go and listened to that part of herself that no GaGa Girl ever had: her instincts.

If he was surprised by her action, their lips meeting, he didn't show it, and instead upped the ante and opened his mouth, making the kiss messy, passionate, _perfect_. The feeling of his tongue against hers took her concentration away from the whole of her body to center on their mouths, exciting her more than she thought possible.

Was this what the Bohemians were talking about? That crazy little thing called love? If it wasn't, she wanted it to be. She wanted that crazy little thing called love. She wanted to do the fandango with him. She wanted…

_I want it all_.

And so she took it.

It was only a matter of time before she had his shirt off and had him start working on her own clothes before moving on to his jeans, quick work compared to what her getup required, but he was doing an admirable job and her breasts were soon free. She was distracted while he explored them, but soon her hands found their way back down.

There. There it was, throbbing just as she was. She gripped it just a little bit harder and, with a stroke, he moaned in pleasure, stopping his ministrations. All it took was a look between them for them both to understand: maybe later—later tonight, or _later _later, if there was a later—they would go slow, learn how to play each other's bodies like the instruments the Bohemians, and now they, sought, but for now, _now _was enough.

Wasting no time, he quickly but gently laid her on the padded surface in the back of the rusty old van and thrust into her. There was a moment of pain, and he must have noticed something because he stopped, but it wasn't a bad pain for Scaramouche, it was _right_, and it quickly subsided, and there was no way she would let him end this, and so she thrust her hips up. He got the message and began his own rhythm.

The friction the two of them created was driving her crazy. She wanted to scream, and moan, and bang on the walls. This was more than an act against the Global Soft Corporation, this was life, _real life_, and she wanted to live it, with _him_.

"Galileo! Galileo Figaro!"

_Magnifico._


End file.
